Those Are the Hat's Rules
by Neftzer
Summary: Missing scene from "The Doctor". If two go in, and two must come out-who did Jefferson leave behind in Dr. Frankenstein's "the Land Without Color" in order to bring the Doctor to see Regina and work on Daniel? Complete and standalone. Includes OFC.


**Those Are the Hat's Rules  
**or** Two Go In, Two Come Out**

A storm was coming, violent and lightning-filled.

Residents of a non-magical Land known as Storybrooke might have named it 'electrical' in nature. Those of the Enchanted Forest would have feared sorcery somehow behind its violent winds, its crackling charge in the air, and the chill of its driving rain. Here, in Switzerland-a dark and brooding Land, the storm was instead greeted with great anticipation, eclipsed only by a nervous fear that the younger Master of this cold castle edifice might not make it back in time to harness its power to his own, mysterious, ends.

Within a lonely room of same edifice, its high ceiling unnecessary and devoid of pleasant ornamentation, a single person sat, much as if waiting in the ladies' parlor at a train depot. But there was little of a lady's reliably placid patience in her present demeanor.

In the Land of Storybrooke this woman would have been compared to their 'Gibson Girl', masses of wavy hair piled into a knot beneath an impossibly broad-brimmed hat, a stuffed male hummingbird serving to attach the veil that tucked under her chin until the veil's netting might be needed to keep out dust or other unpleasantries. She wore a linen duster coat over her dress which fell past her ankles, and was in a color of brown so unremarkable one might be forgiven for thinking _she_ had come from the dull blandness of her immediate colorless, surroundings.

Strung about her neck, rather than jewels or precious metals, was a pair of dark-lensed driving goggles. Many of the accessories in her ensemble spoke of far-flung, and even magical travels. Buttons of an iridescent element unknown in this Land, the leather of her boots softer but more durable than any animal hide found in forty Realms. And that hummingbird? Something about it was simply, not _quite_ normal. It was delicate just as one might expect it to be, but something about it queerly suggested more of a peacock in its bearing. The effect was unsettling. As though one species so familiar had been caught mid-evolving into the other. And if one looked closely, the veil she had at the ready might almost convince one it were spider-spun, rather than lace-made by mortal hands.

The room she occupied was dark, as was the bulk of the castle; shadows inexplicably everywhere despite any visible source of illumination to cast them. It took a moment, then, for her to distinguish the haze of purple rising from the floor below a nearby doorway when first it did to herald the arrival of both the young master of this place, and his present guide.

%

It did not irritate Jefferson when this wizard, this "Dr." Frankenstein—scientist, conjurer, magician-failed to wish him farewell upon the completion of their travels. Clearly, Victor was a man with a mission, and no longer with any time for the formalities. Not that a man such as himself, Jefferson of The Hat, with places to be and an enchanted way to get there, ever bothered much with etiquette.

_Whatever_, he was done with Victor for the moment. The good doctor might as well be nothing more than another trinket he had decided to pinch (or been compensated by someone to take) for all that he paid any further mind to him now.

Jefferson stepped through the door Victor had left ajar in his hurry to be about his own business, and saw her there: impeccably perched upon the edge of her seat, as if sitting in it too deeply might impede her rising from it, her eyes as always alight with the quickness and perception he had grown to expect would be there—but also with something more. A skittishness about this room—this locale—in which he had needed to leave her while he was on the Dark One's errand.

She was exquisite. Both a thing of classical perfection, and yet also a being that transcended, well—that which must be transcended, he supposed. But what could one expect, really, when one had induced one third of the triplet Graces to abscond from Zeus and Olympus to chase her fancy as the wind would change it around the multiplicity of other Realms to which his Hat would offer her access? Innate naturalness, native intelligence. Beguiling imagination.

Her other sisters might have the lion's share of beauty and creativity each in her own turn, but she—she was Charm itself. He was never quite sure whether to paint her portrait, make a meal of her, or ravish her until they both collapsed into the mirth of intimacy. But to keep her happy, certainly. To keep that consciousness eternally sparked.

It was no picnic entertaining immortals. Not every Realm offered up Olympus-like diversions.

"Jeff—" she spoke up, as he went toward her and dropped to a knee at her lap, Hat still in his hand, his heart and concern rushing out toward her.

"I don't like it here," she told him what he had already observed. "It's…something is not _right_ here. Something…" Her eyes darted about the room, but her gloved hands went to his arms in greeting, and uncharacteristically gripped them, seeking comfort, like a small child worried by night terrors.

"Charis," he called her by name, with his tone trying to chase away some of the uneasiness in her eyes. "_Char_, you're spooked," he said, barely believing it, unfamiliar with seeing her this way from any of their prior travels. He spoke with some degree of amusement, mixed with slight amazement that the woman with whom he had taken on far more daunting tasks was now, here in this Switzerland, showing a decided chink in her courage. When he could see of nothing to shake her so.

Certainly _she_ had not just borne witness to the distastefulness of a chamber-full of still-beating hearts sans their bodies, to a man attempting (or even only miming) reanimation of the dead, or to the Dark One giving one of his more unpleasant and messy lessons which seemed to end, inevitably, in far more unicorn death than anyone intolerant of unnecessary waste would find rational.

"Oh, let's leave," she declared, leaning forward to kiss him. "Go somewhere just for ourselves. Anywhere—just not here. Whatever Victor has come back to do—I can only think it will make _here_ worse." Fret was visible upon her brow. "That it will—"

But at that he kissed her, his fingers finding their way back into the weave of her elaborate hairstyle, knowing that her eyes would close, as would his, in the doing of it. When she opened hers he had his Hat, brim-up, in her lap where he was still on one knee beside her.

"Choose your poison," he declared, exaggeratedly dramatic, showing his teeth, "for I've gold enough for any adventure you could hope to devise." Hand into his bag, he withdrew just enough of Rumple's shiny floss to temptingly explain how much more of same the bulging pouch _did_ hold.

She squealed in delight. "Oh, I don't know. Dorian, or Poppins-or Toad." Here she grew excited and nearly bounced up from her seat. "Oh, yes—somewhere with motorcars!" she proclaimed, her expression changed to smiling. "Potts!" she decided. "Let us go and see Potts in his sunny windmill. His breezy, _colorful_, sunny windmill."

Seeing her glee at the thought of an excursion, the blanket of melancholy this Land had laid upon her lifted, he could not help but smile himself, could not help but feel there was something of the magician within him, too, to be able to so alter the spirit of another being's temperament. He wanted to laugh with her, to have good times. Warm nights, except when the bite of cold might cause them to sleep more closely in each other's embrace. Long days, save when short ones would better suit. And adventures. Adventures to stir the blood when days were boring and hours passed slowly. And rest, in greening leas with each other for pillows when trees were in bloom and brooks ran quick with Spring and new hope.

"I can think of nowhere better," Jefferson agreed to visiting their friend Potts, surprised that when he looked away from her toward their immediate colorless surroundings he had begun to feel the same indefinable something of which she was so desperate to flee in the face beginning to edge into his own consciousness.

"We shall roll in the sunshine of open meadows and take picnics, visit with Grandpa if he is home…" she planned.

He pushed back against the greyness trying to overtake him, grinning perhaps a bit too largely as he joined in her thought. "Chase Jeremy and Jemima until they can't breathe…"

"And go for rides in automobiles."

"I daresay we might even acquire one for our own," he promised, knowing of her love for speed, and for the kiss of wind all about her.

Not waiting for his further assent, she took two hands, grabbed for the Hat's brim, and made a move to set it spinning. But not before laying claim to his mouth, an intrusion to which he did not at all object.

Deep lavender mist climbed from the swirl of the Hat, teasing at their skin, and they necessarily broke apart from one another for the journey to come.

Leaping rarely felt so fun.

**The End**

%

**A/N:** Written in an effort to explain…whom exactly did Jefferson leave behind as a placeholder in "the Land without Color" when he first brought Victor to meet with Regina in "The Doctor"? After all (unless I am missing something); "Two go in, two come out—Hat's rules, not mine."  
_Right?_


End file.
